


Hands and Feet

by mcmachine



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 06:44:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15334137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcmachine/pseuds/mcmachine
Summary: After the death of their son, April desperately needs to do something different. Jackson goes along with it seamlessly, unexpectedly.





	Hands and Feet

Working through the pain was difficult.

At this point, it was the only thing that I knew how to do. I had spent countless days sitting inside of Samuel's nursery, just sitting and existing, not exactly living. On multiple occasions, Jackson had come in and tried to drag me out of it – with offers to walk around the mall, to get my nails done, to go to my favorite restaurant, to go to church with me. He had pulled every weapon out of the arsenal that he could think of and yet none of them had actually worked for me. I knew that Owen would have let me take off as much time as I wanted, but I could feel that being in there was only feeding the toxicity inside of me. I had to get back to work.

But things didn't feel the same. The hospital and the emergency room were some of my favorite places in the world. There was nothing that compared to the fast pace of the emergency room, the thrill of the adrenaline rush that came with a challenging and successful surgery. Surgeons were addicts – our drug of choice just happened to be a legal one.

It still felt good, but the feelings once the heat of the moment was over were something else. Something that I wasn't entirely sure how to deal with. That heaviness that had been piecing away different parts of me was just as present before, but it felt fresh with each time that I came down like it was hitting me over and over again. Maybe it was because most people were still walking around eggshells around me. Jackson was, Owen was, Arizona was. They were the ones I was around most and I knew that they cared, that they thought perhaps there was something to do to help, but they couldn't. The pain wasn't going anywhere. The memories weren't going anywhere. I could still feel that phantom squeeze of his grip around my finger, so tiny but certainly there. It had given me a spark of hope that maybe things weren't as bad as hey seemed. But reality had come sinking in again.

I wanted to remember, in a way. I did. Every little detail of his tiny face and tiny features, the nose that had certainly come from Jackson. His weight in my arms had been next to nothing. He had been sweet and quiet. If he opened his eyes, I was sure they would have looked like Jackson's. But he never did.

Yet at the same time, remembering every possible little detail of his features, it felt like it wasn't real. We still both came home to an empty nursery every night. The house was quiet. There was no joy anymore.

How could there be? We had lost our son. Our only son. The pain was unbearable. Talking about it didn't fix it, it didn't make anything better. At least when the two of us were at work, we could focus on something other than the pain. We could fix the pain of other people and try to make sure that they did not have to feel the way that we were both feeling at the moment. We could put some good back into the universe, to try and balance out the bad that had afflicted us so harshly. We were both still doing something good to try and fix other people, even if it seemed like there was nothing in the universe that could be done to even begin to mend the broken pieces of our hearts.

"Are you ready to go?" Jackson's voice drew me out of my thoughts. My pen had stilled before signing the charts. A death certificate. I still remembered Dr. Hermann handing me his to sign.

"Yeah, just a second." I nodded, scribbling my signature across the page and filing it. "Ready."

"Did you have a good day?" There was some concern as always in his voice at his question and I gave a nod of my head, already exhausted from the conversation before it could even happen. I couldn't do the small talk and pretend that everything between us was normal.

A small silence fell between the two of us and our hands connected together, fingers interlaced as we walked out to the car. Even if I didn't want to talk, it was nice to not be alone.

The car ride home felt particularly short. The sun was still peaking through the heavy puffs of cloud that scattered across the Seattle sky, always threatening a little bit of rain though never particularly easy to predict when exactly it would start. Sometimes, it drove me crazy. But right now, it just felt right. It was just like me. Perhaps on the verge of the tears, perhaps willing to pass if given enough time and patience. That was the way I had been lately. I didn't feel like people needed to walk on eggshells because now, there was nothing that would specifically send me spiraling over the edge, but it just remained a lingering threat.

"You're quiet," Jackson observed after a few minutes.

"Just thinking," I muttered, wetting my lips. "I guess I'm kind of tired of just going home and doing the same thing. I kind of want to do something different tonight."

It's new. I haven't wanted to do anything since he died.

"Really?" He questioned, glancing over at me as he shifted the gear into park and began to get out of the car. I followed suit. "What did you have in mind?" He followed up after a moment.

"I'm not sure." I followed him into the house and set down my bag, heeling off my bots and letting down my hair. "I just feel like I need to do something different. Something… something I haven't done before. I took a deep breath, releasing it heavily and pushing my hair back out of her face.

"Strip club?" He was joking. Still trying to make me feel better, no matter what.

"Not feeling that crazy just yet." My eyes rolled, but this time there was a lightness to them. "I'm going to take a shower and think about it," I said.

He nodded his head and I headed down the hallway toward our bedroom and into the bathroom, slowly stripping out of my clothes. The baby weight had fallen off easier than I had guessed, mostly because I hadn't been eating well. I hadn't gained as much as most women given I hadn't gone to full term. My breasts were a little heavier, though no longer leaking. My stomach was flat but not toned anymore. It didn't really matter anymore. Jackson wouldn't say a thing.

Turning on the shower, I give it a minute to heat up before getting in. I let the hot water boil over my skin, washing my hair and scrubbing myself clean. It was hard to feel like my body was my own. It wasn't just the changes. Some of it had gotten easier after my vagina had healed and my breasts had resumed some semblance of normalcy. Things were still far from perfect.

I felt like I needed to reclaim my body, my life. My son.

A long time is taken before I finally twisted the shower off and grabbed my towel, drying off slowly and wringing out some of my hair. I put on lotion and deodorant, combing out my hair before pulling it out of my face in a loose braid. After the shower, I don't look quite as tired as I did going inside of it, even without a layer of makeup on. That was good. Nice, even. But it still wasn't quite enough.

I know what I needed to do.

Sifting through my closet, I pulled on a pair of leggings and a loose t-shirt, opting for a more casual look. Where we were going, well, I was pretty sure that we weren't going to see anyone that we knew. I would have been shocked if that was the case.

"Hey," he greeted. "You feeling any better now?"

"A bit clearer," I nodded. "I know what I want to do tonight." Before he could begin to ask, I walked past him, straight to the kitchen.

There was a drawer that we kept them in. I don't think that it had been opened since we had come home from the hospital that day and put the final pieces of paperwork inside of it. The birth and death certificate, his handprints and footprints, the ultrasounds before birth and the test results that confirmed our worst nightmare was a reality. Yet I go straight to it, pulling it open quickly and pulling out what I wanted.

"I want to get a tattoo. Of this." I wet my lips before holding out the piece of paper for him to see. On the paper was the tiny footprints of our son, just about the size of my thumb.

Jackson stared at me for a moment, processing the information that I had dropped on him. I probably wasn't the type to get a tattoo. I didn't even know if there was a type, it was just something that I had never had any interest in. But now, I needed this. I needed a piece of him right there with me. Something real and solid, something that I could touch, even if I couldn't touch him.

"Are you sure?" He questioned, stepping toward me with his brows furrowed. "I mean, you've never talked about getting a tattoo before. You'd have to cover it up for work."

"I know," I nodded. "And I'm sure. I want this. No, Jackson, I need this."

"Okay." He nodded too. "Let's do it."

Grabbing my phone, I quickly looked up the best tattoo parlors in the area. I knew that I would want somewhere clear and sterile. I'd seen a few infections end up in the emergency room. I was sure that Jackson had, too. It doesn't take long before we've settled in a decision and gotten in the car.

"I think I want it on my ribs." My voice was quieter than I intended as it came out. "Close to my heart."

His hand reached over for mine and he gave it a gentle squeeze with his larger one. I smiled to myself for just a moment. It was the first smile that I had been able to muster up in a few weeks that wasn't forced or professionally fake. It felt good.

When we arrive at the tattoo parlor, I clutched onto the piece of paper and let Jackson do most of the conversation for me. It wasn't particularly busy – the middle of the week, early evening, there was no reason for it to be. I was a little hesitant to let go of the piece of paper, even if it was just handing it over to the tattoo artist so they would be able to draw it for themselves. I would get over it. It's not like I had another choice. I knew that I wanted to do this.

"And I would like to get one, as well."

The sudden words from Jackson pulled me out of my thoughts and I blinked in surprise, staring at him for a moment. The artist he was speaking to didn't look surprised by his words.

"Wait, what?" I asked him.

"Dads do it all the time." My eyes burned with tears as he spoke. "I'd like his handprints, on the back of my shoulder."

My mouth parted but no words escaped out of my lips for a moment. Instead, I flung myself into his arms and wrapped myself around him. Jackson returned the embrace after only a moment, his chin on top of my head. I hit beneath him perfectly. It was easy to forget that, with all of the distance that had been between the two of us lately. But we were here again. We were still alive and together.

The two of us get settled by side. We have to wait for a little while so that the artists could get everything drawn up. They were small tattoos. His handprints were even smaller than his footprints but Jackson had expressed emphatically how important the details were.

But we don't have to wait forever. I can't help but get a little nervous about it. I had heard that the ribs were the most painful place to get tattoos and the artist had questioned whether or not I really wanted it there given that I had never had one before. But it was small, black ink only. None of it would really compare to the pain that I had been living with since we had been told that Samuel was type two. Maybe this would bring some physical pain right off the bat, but at least it would bring some kind of content satisfaction, too.

My entire body felt like it was rattling when the process finally began. I bit down on my lower lip and held my breath as the needles punctured the thin area. It was sensitive and close to the bone. It was different and intense.

"Are you okay?" The artist asked as she paused.

I hadn't realized there were tears in my eyes. "Yeah." My voice was clearly emotional. "It's not the pain, I promise. I'm just thinking."

She nodded in understanding and continued. I doubted that we were the first parents to do it, but I was sure that most parents who did it, they could go home and hold their baby, love and kiss them. How tiny the footprints and handprints were in our case should have made it clear that we were not so lucky.

Jackson and his artist were chatting. He didn't seem to be in quite so much pain and I listened to the conversation they were having. The man who was tattooing the back of his shoulder blade was talking about his own wife and kids. There was a little bit of jealousy stirring in the pit of my stomach, but Jackson didn't seem to be reacting quite the same way. He looked sad but content at the same time. I wasn't sure how he was able to deal with all of this quite so well. Maybe it helped that he was doing his tattoo in a considerably less painful spot than I was.

When the buzzing of the tattoo equipment finally shut off, I blinked a few times before looking down. It was just as tiny on my ribs as it had been on the paper. The skin was red as she had said it would be. I didn't want to touch it.

"Is that it?" I asked.

"Yep. No more pain." She smiled at me. She didn't know the half of it. "Here is the sheet of instructions for aftercare. I'm going to put a cloth over it to protect it so make sure that you wear loose clothing for the next few days so you don't irritate the skin. The redness will fade." A few more words came out of her mouth and I nodded, halfway listening.

Jackson was already done with his tattoo, sitting and waiting for me. His gaze was soft on me, but I could see something different there. It was a little lighter than usual. I would have liked to think that mine was, too.

I sat there for a moment and shut my eyes, taking a deep breath and letting it stretch out my lungs. I could feel it there. Feeling that, even if it was just ink permanently inputted into my skin, I could feel him with me. It was the first time that I could feel him and it didn't ache in a way that threatened to tear me apart completely. I smiled again, even with a little moisture in my eyes. This had been the right decision. This had been what I needed.

"Are you ready to go, or do you want to sit a minute longer?" He asked softly.

"I'm ready," I nodded. "Why don't we get takeout and head home?"

A stop at our favorite Chinese place is made. I sit in the car and wait for him to go in and get the food. It doesn't take very long. One of the reasons that our place was our favorite was the fact that it was always speedy no matter what time we went there, and I knew hey were always friendly to Jackson because we went there more than enough.

We eat quickly and quietly, getting to dinner a little later than usual because of the usual path our routine had taken for the night. I have a bigger appetite than usual. Maybe this was the start of me finally getting back to normal again.

But we do one more thing that's unusual. After dinner was cleaned up, we go outside and sit on the balcony. It's not raining. The temperature outside was still cold, enough that Jackson grabbed a blanket and snuggly wrapped it around both of our frames. I leaned into his shoulder and took a deep breath, smelling his cologne. He smelled good, as always, and he was warm, even if the outside wasn't. I looked up into the sky for a moment, staring at the scars.

"Do your ribs still hurt?" Jackson questioned.

"Not really. It's just itchy." I barely shrugged my shoulders, snuggling into him a little further. "What about your back? You looked pretty cozy getting that tattoo."

"A little itchy, but yeah, it didn't hurt that much." He answered. "I'm glad that we did this, April. I would have never thought to suggest it, but… I'm glad. We're both always going to have a piece of him. Something that we and everyone else can see, too."

"He won't just exist inside of our heads." I murmured.

That had been my fear. No one else had a reason to remember about it or to even know if they hadn't seen us live through it. We would make friends that would have no idea. Our coworkers would eventually let it slip from their mind. As painful as all of the memories were, I didn't want him to be forgotten in any way. He was still my son, still my little boy, even if he was with God now. Just because no one else could see that now didn't mean that I had to ignore or bury it.

I would always be a mom to an angel.


End file.
